


Darker Waters

by Plutonian_Shores



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:42:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutonian_Shores/pseuds/Plutonian_Shores
Summary: Will has made the decision to throw Hannibal and himself off a cliff and into the ocean.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 12





	Darker Waters

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing something and this is what came out. I'm putting it out there in the hope that some of you might enjoy it.  
> (this is what I like to call 'quick and dirty', or: barely edited and not proofread.)

Will doesn’t know why he did it. It seemed like the only viable option at the time, when his heart expanded too much as Hannibal held him tight, when his own hands reached out to hold, to grip, to feel, when an alarm rang in his head and he knew he had to take them both out.

We might survive, he remembered thinking, before the black waves rushed up to meet them and swallowed them whole.

It wasn’t such a good idea then, his survival instinct screamed, when weak and still losing blood, he tried to breathe, but instead choked on salted water and sank like a dead weight into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Then the waters, darker now, shoved and probed him like he was some great intruder and they wanted none of him.

Unless perhaps it was that someone was fighting against the rules of gravity, and was trying to pull him up toward the bloodless face of the moon.

Will lost consciousness just as he thought, again, with surprise first, then some annoyance, _we might survive this._

When he woke up, truly woke up, it was darker, still.

He first noticed how soft the sheets felt against his bare skin, before he cared to open his eyes.

He was alive. Again.

How many lives did he have? Enough to make the sliest of cats hiss with envy.

Perhaps he really had died all of these times, and just woke up in some alternate universe, where everything was almost the same but not quite, everything except for one tall and dark figure looming over him, with antlers for a crown and eyes as black as a bottomless pit.

Will tried to move and made an unfortunate sound. His head hurt like that wretched time he drank a whole bottle of cheap whisky to forget about… Hannibal.

Hannibal.

He voicelessly said the word.

  
Where was he?

  
  
Was he… like him… alive?

Were they doomed to roam the surface of the earth together? Or were they already past the gates of Hell? Hannibal would like that, he and Will reigning over the screaming masses, judging friend and foe alike.

Perhaps Will had been drugged. That would explain these incoherent, immature thoughts. So he could very well be in a hospital, waiting to be sent back, in shackles, to the asylum.

A shuffling of feet alerted him of someone’s presence on the opposite side of the room, at his back. He shuddered.

“Will?”

His name, whispered in the dark.

He recognised the voice instantly, understood the anxious note in Hannibal's tone, and his heart sank.

They were both alive then. And together.

Pulling the covers over himself, he screwed his eyes shut, refusing to face his old friend yet.

They were both alive.

  
  
There was no way of knowing what they would be capable of now.


End file.
